sunday scaries

“Do the Sunday Scaries ever come for you?” She asks.

If they do, I never notice, I respond.

I’m too busy overdosing on caffeine in quiet coffee shops.

Reading something beautiful or chatting with friends.

Sundays are also for worship.

Although your body is the only church I attend these days.

Your voice, the only gospel I recognize.

I remember seeing you for the first time and being disabused of the notion that God could be a man.

And I believe that happened on a Sunday as well.

They’re also for lying in the sun

Eating lunch somewhere that has a great patio and a good happy hour.

Or for picking up takeout and smoking weed until we’re so high that it feels like we’re trudging through water in my apartment.

Sundays are for comfy clothes draped over beautiful bones

While we watch movies that make us laugh until we cry,

Or ones that crush us into bits.

For playing guitar a little too loud and pretending the neighbors are humming along to the covers we’re singing

when in reality they probably can’t wait for us to stop.

ChatGPT says the probability of us being born is one in a number so huge it’s effectively zero.

And when I think about how much of a miracle we are, life starts to seem pretty wonderful.

Or maybe it’s because in your presence the demons grow kind,

And the spirals slow down,

And everything just makes a little more sense.

Or maybe I’m just too exhausted by the end of the week to care about it all.

No matter which it is, I look forward to it.

So, no.

Sundays don’t scare me.

They absolve me.